


Long way down

by khaleesian



Category: Fast and the Furious Series
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-08
Updated: 2013-02-08
Packaged: 2017-11-28 14:58:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/675685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khaleesian/pseuds/khaleesian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I wrote this for grnidshrk who made a great entry to the art challenge that I set on quarter_mile. Thank you so much, gal, great art and a great prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long way down

**Dom woke to a cool, ocean-scented breeze swaying the curtains and carrying the fierce cry of a gull. _Belize?_ He stretched across the sheets, reaching through a bar of sunlight for his cell phone.  _La Punta?_ He squinted at the time.   
  
8 AM. He shoved the pillow down and rolled over, feeling the pleasant ache as he stretched hard.  _Mazatlan?_ He blinked. Someone had put a mango on the table opposite the bed and he could smell it.  _Veracruz?_ Outside someone was singing in a language fringed with slurred consonants and broad vowels. Dom took a deep breath and thought  _Praia da Pipa, Brazil._  
  
198 mornings had started like this. Two oceans and a gulf, eight countries and three time zones. He closed his eyes and said a little prayer on another day of being a free man in paradise. A free man on permanent vacation, close enough to the ocean to hear the surf, lolling on clean sheets, watching net curtains ripple.   
  
But since this was a Toretto heaven, there were still raised voices close by. Dom opened his eyes and narrowed them. Raised voices in  _English_ and he recognized both. He sighed and sat up, scrubbing a hand over his face as he pulled on some khakis and stomped into his boots. He said another prayer for Mia. Then one for Letty. Eden was no damn good without Eve.   
  
By the time he got to the kitchen, Brian was just a slim, navy blue shadow vanishing into his car which reversed up the drive with an angry shriek. Dom pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows at Vince. It had been less than twelve hours, of which they’d spent four hours talking and seven sleeping. Last night he’d managed to keep them from snapping at each other with the liberal application of beer, but that wasn’t going to work at quarter past eight in the morning.  
  
“Blondie got mad and bailed.” Vince said unnecessarily. Dom just blinked at him slowly and poured himself some of the juice Mia had left. He rocked his weight back onto the corner of the table and just looked at Vince.   
  
“Okay.” Vince burst out. “So I didn’t mark all the police checkpoints, so he’s got his panties really bunched up. So I mighta suggested that he could…”  
  
Dom spoke over him. “Did you get most of them?”  
  
Vince broke out. “Yeah man…I just, I guess I’ve been here too long, checkpoints just don’t even register anymore.”  
  
There was a subtle dig in there, but Dom ignored it. “You think maybe, he’d just get waved along with Mia?”  
  
“I know he would, man.” Vince shook his head, scratching the edge of his beard. “They’d smell the yanquero all over him. Harmless.”  
  
“So.” Dom leaned back and folded his arms. “You think they’d just wave me through?”   
  
Vince stopped his idle scratch and swallowed hard. He cleared his throat and shrugged.  
Dom hid a sigh with another sip of juice. He loved Vince. Vince never flinched or wavered. He just wished there was a little more imagination mixed in with Vince’s devotion.   
  
“Is this your map?” Dom took a closer look at the table. “Don’t wanna be flying blind in the favelas.”  
  
Vince snorted. “Not with some Yankee cop, for damn sure.”   
  
“Vince.” Dom put an edge into it and Vince looked sheepish and mulish at once.   
  
“Act right.” Dom tried to be as gentle as he could. “For Mia, at least.”   
  
Pain twitched in the corner of Vince’s right eye. “Where is Mia, again?”   
  
Dom shrugged. “Our landlady had some kind of female trouble, I think. Mia’s driving her over to Joao Pessoa. She’ll be back the day after tomorrow.”  
  
Vince set his jaw. “How’s she doing?”  
  
 _Veracruz._  Dom turned away to pour some more juice, tightening his fist to keep it steady. “She’s good. She’s…”  
  
Dom turned around, smoothing his face. “She learned Portuguese in about 2 hours. They love her here. She’s not the one I worry about.”  
  
“Who do you worry about?” Vince asked flatly. “Me?”   
  
“Vince.” Dom looked up from the table and placed his words very carefully. “Don’t make me…”  
  
He left it silent, but Vince still turned white under his tan. Vince didn’t have much imagination, but he could hear the subtext loud and clear,  _don’t make me choose, that could go bad for you._  
  
Vince stood up straight. “I better be…It’s a long drive and Rosa gets…see you in a couple months.”   
  
Dom swallowed another sigh. “Kiss your boy for me.”  
  
Vince grinned a little faintly. “Might have a job lined up for you, cabron.”  
  
Dom hugged him tightly, feeling how Vince’s body had broadened. It made him doubly aware of his own extra heft; they were none of them as young as they used to be.   
  
Dom watched Vince drive off, folding his arms against the ache of nostalgia. The sun was hot on his cheekbones and he felt every day that had passed since the third grade as weight and pain, like the years were stones in his shoes.   
  
He opened his eyes and looked across to the blue Atlantic. Now all he had to do was find Brian.  
  
*****  
  
The coast road spooled out smooth and empty, cresting the tiny hill out of town on the way to the point. He passed the sign for Praia dos Artistas and gunned it just a little. The Charger answered him with a sultry snarl, knowing that it was just a tease. He hadn’t really opened the throttle since Oaxaca.   
  
Whether they realize it or not, all humans are predators with eyes that track on movement. So when you go on the run, the last thing you should do is  **run**. You _saunter_. You  _cruise_.   
  
You try to look harmless, and if you can’t look harmless, you’ve got to look expected. Easily quantifiable. Just a mechanic. A surfer. Not local, but not too foreign. Just some dumb tourist.   
  
Brian was the master, Dom thought wryly. And the reason that this trip had taken over six months and been so surprisingly successful. **  
  
*****  
  
Going upstate, he’d been so deep in his head that the thundering engines hadn’t penetrated until the Charger was roaring past the window. He’d had time to blink and grin; an instant to recognize that berserker-style steering and then…whoa. The first thing he felt after they’d cut him out of that tumble dryer of a bus was Mia’s hair brushing over his wrists. Then he didn’t really remember anything until he’d woken up in a sparsely-furnished, un-air conditioned room with his whole body aching. Mia’s smile bright as the bleached linen. She’d brought him so much food that they ended up leaving most of it for the ants. Her hands were so small cupped in his palms.   
  
And what could have been an hour or even a day later, Brian showed up, unshaven and hollow-eyed. But he could still manage a grin when Dom asked him gruffly, “That little tap and spin out, they teach you that at some academy?”  
  
Brian had stuck his elbows on his knees and scrubbed both hands through his hair. “They call it ‘controlled contact’ and…seems like I learned it from you, remember?”  
  
“Controlled contact? I like that.” Dom had smirked at him, still a little goofy with painkillers. “Where are we?”  
  
“Mazatlan.” Brian had tossed a tiny blue book on Dom’s chest. “Here’s the new you.”  
  
Dom examined the navy cover blazoned Pasaporte Ordinario. “I’m from Guatemala?”  
  
Brian had raised one shoulder and asked seriously. “You know how happy Mexicans are to see   
the back of a Guatemalan?”   
  
“Pretty happy, I’m guessing.” Dom sat upright slowly, trying not to wince or clutch his chest which felt like a big bag full of needles.   
  
“Just keep pressure there.” Brian had said dryly. “It’ll be all right.”  
  
Dom didn’t have enough energy to flip him off so he just said, “Quit pulling my dick, O’Conner.”  
  
In retrospect, that was a mistake.  
  
******  
  
 **Dom pulled up into the parking lot of the sleepy bar perched on the palisade of the Praia  
da Areia Preta. He didn’t see Brian’s car, but that didn’t mean anything. Brian was a born fugitive; he never left his car in sight of the road and rarely the same place twice. Dom walked up to the edge and looked down at the V of surf, rolling up in white fringes to the shore below.  
  
He knew at once that Brian wasn’t there, but he spent some time scrutinizing each of the happily-bobbing surfers dotting the water. The tide must’ve been wrong, because they sat astride their boards, just watching the waves with a Zen detachment that Dom couldn’t even understand enough to envy.  
  
It had been kind of a shock to see it the first time. See that Brian, desert-bred like he was, surfed the way other people breathed.  _La Punta._ Dom shifted his weight uncomfortably and the sand crunched gently under his boot. **  
  
*****  
  
When he traveled with Mia, they found it ridiculously easy. Instead of desperate siblings on the run, Mexico saw a protective, gallant husband with a delicate wife  _de porcelana_. Dom made a habit of silence and Mia’s Spanish somehow acquired a Guatemalan cadence overnight. No one looked twice.  
  
And Brian had very calmly taken the Charger out and driven it through the muddy hills behind Santa Teresa until it was scratched, dented and covered with dust. Then he had slapped a surfboard on top, laced on some boardshorts and then…no one looked twice at him either.   
  
Just another blanco, guero, gringo…without enough money to pay  _la mordida_  or be worth robbing. Brian traveled alone down the coast and they communicated by emails left on webmail addresses that they changed every three days. Sometimes their routes intersected. Sometimes they gave themselves a few days of overlap if it felt safe. Every time he saw Brian again, it was almost a surprise.   
  
In Oaxaca, near Puerte Escondido, there was a place just called ‘the end’. Dom had been driving back from some errand, lazily enjoying the breeze and the i-VTEC in his very pedestrian-looking Honda. They hadn’t seen Brian for two weeks, almost enough time to start to worry. He’d seen the flash through the trees, like a shadow or a ghost and when he’d pulled up, seeing the Charger had given him some odd liquid jolt like he’d just squeezed a battery terminal.  
  
The path down to the beach had been tiny, just a goat trail overgrown with ropey ice-plant and scruffy palms. Dom stopped in the last foot of shade before the beach opened out. Out on the water, Brian was surfing, his body a long curve like a bow. The short board sliced through the water like an arrow.  
  
The beach was empty and there was the barest speck of a sail out on the water. Brian cut zigzag patterns in the water and his face was a study in perfect concentration. Dom couldn’t see the delicate shifts of weight and balance that moved Brian over the wave. That was part of the artistry.   
  
Brian leaned forward to skate faster over the gentle swells. Brian came in within a few feet of shore, then threw himself prone on his board. Dom watched the muscles of Brian’s back bulge and ripple as he paddled back out. Brian lay on the board with his chin on his fist for a while, letting the sea rock him back and forth.   
  
When Brian sprang to his feet on the board again, Dom felt the sweat down his sides prickle with heat even though he was standing in the shade. Brian’s hair had grown out an inch or two, it was starting to curl and get stiff with saltwater. His abdominal muscles stretched into high relief in the lowering sun. He was deeply tanned now with a splash of freckles. Dom took a deep breath in through his nose and tucked his keys deep into a pocket before he dropped them. Brian glided up to the shore again and Dom stepped out into the sun.   
  
When Brian saw him, he didn’t smile. Or wave. He slid off his board into waist-deep water which churned to a froth as Brian strode up the beach. Dom hesitated on the sand as Brian ripped his Velcro tie free and planted the board like a tombstone. Dom opened his mouth to speak and Brian rolled over him like a tsunami.  
  
*****  
  
That encounter left a cut on the inside of Dom’s mouth, sometimes when he was alone in the car he’d touch it without realizing what he was doing. If he noticed he was doing it, he’d spend a minute wondering if he’d left any mark on Brian.   
  
And if Brian ever touched it.   
  
*****  
  
 **Dom slid back in the Charger, just as the proprietor was pulling up to the bar. The man called out a friendly greeting which Dom returned in unsteady Portuguese. If Mia had been here, they’d have had to stop and chat for an hour.  
  
“You come back for dinner?” His handsome face was dark and round and his smile was almost as wide as Brian’s.   
  
“Sim, obrigado.” Dom returned, sketching a salute. The local beer here was served ice cold, perfect for the end of a sweaty day. Dom didn’t really like to cook when it was just the two of them. It felt too…domestic. He pulled back onto the coast road and drove for a while, thinking.**  
  
*****  
  
Down at the southern edge of Mexico, the bars of Cancun had felt odd and wrong. Bright and garish in the wrong way. Being surrounded by drunken Americans was kind of a catch-22. Easy to blend in, but easier to be recognized too. But a border crossing always made Brian electric with tension, so Dom suggested an excursion for stress relief.  
  
They’d left Mia curled up in a hammock with a book that Brian had cadged somewhere. She was starting to look less hunted, some of her angles softening to curves. Brian stroked her hair for a moment and whispered into her ear.   
  
Dom let Brian drive. He jerked through second gear way too fast, but Dom didn’t say anything.  
  
After two fistfuls of Coronas, Brian stopped fidgeting and scanning the crowd. They played two games of pool and flirted with a couple of girls from Texas. Dom noticed for the first time that Brian spoke ever-so-slightly faster when he was anxious. Dom felt a hot ache welling up inside him, a tenderness that almost made his throat close.   
  
He excused himself and went out onto the deck at the back. It was later than he’d realized. Romantic out here, under the moonlight, next to the waves. It made him think of the last time he’d been with Letty and the pain was so fierce and sudden that his eyes screwed shut. It took him almost ten minutes to breathe right again.  
  
“Solo el que carga el cajón sabe lo que pesa el muerto” It sounded strange in Brian’s even tone and it took Dom a moment to get the sense of it.  _Only the one who carries the coffin knows how much the dead weigh._    
  
“There was only one of her.” Dom managed to say. “I won’t find another.”  
  
“I know.” Brian poured an inch of his beer out onto the rock-strewn sand.   
  
Dom felt a flare of that aching tenderness again and apparently, he was drunk enough to say what he was thinking. “You’re good to me, O’Conner.”  
  
Dom cringed inwardly and waited for a smile or laugh that didn’t come. Brian actually turned away for a moment, set his beer down and gripped the railing tight. Dom blinked slowly and noticed that Brian was almost…trembling. He wondered what would happen if he slid his hand up Brian’s back right now, cupped the back of Brian’s neck and guided Brian’s face into the curve of his own shoulder.   
  
If it were anyone else, he could do it. But something about Brian kept him frozen, stiff as a statue with all the things he wasn’t supposed to feel or say.   
  
Brian had finally stood up straight and turned so sharply that their shoulders brushed in a hard jostle. He followed Brian back to the car and waited until they were halfway home to spread his hand over Brian’s thigh. Some things had to be shown, because they could never be said.   
  
*****  
  
 **The forest air was sharp like lime, but warm with salt. Everything here seemed to taste vaguely of salt, even the air itself. None of the foliage was familiar. The other curve of the bay had no beach, just rocks and dense forest. Someone was half-heartedly building an expensive vacation home at the end of a dirt track. But construction trucks only seemed to show up once a week and the rest of the time the clearing sat empty in the middle of buzzing, chirping trees and brush.  
  
Dom could barely hear the ocean for the bugs. The breeze blowing through his open windows was heavy with the scent of rotting leaves and fresh earth. **  
  
*****  
  
In Belize, Brian and Mia had stopped to help an older Dutch couple stranded on the side of the road with a frayed timing belt. The Mollenkamps had been so grateful that somehow they’d ended up staying in their guest house for six weeks. Dom had found himself flirting shamelessly with his hostess who was half his age again. She gifted him with fresh roses from her garden every other day.   
  
Brian had done some shameless flirting of his own and wheedled two guns from the Australian who ran the dive shop. It made Dom helplessly anxious for days, but it turned out that all the guy wanted was a couple of grand and a way to get to Panama.  
  
And somehow they didn’t have to risk the toughest border crossings of all, but got places crewing a yacht down to Costa Rica, because when Mia decided to flirt shamelessly…big doors opened.   
  
*****  
  
 **Dom cut the engine and just sat for a while, listening. He tried not to let it bother him when Brian did this. Brian didn’t seem to get that being part of a family meant that you couldn’t just _vanish_. And if Brian was doing what he suspected…Dom heard the unmistakable sound of a gunshot and winced.   
  
Not everyone found stress relief twisting a wrench. Not everyone found it soothing to clean a carburetor. But if he thought that one of Brian’s relaxation techniques was dangerous, too attention-getting and expensive, well, Brian never called him on most of his bullshit either.   
There was one mitigating factor: when the people of Central  & South America heard gunshots, the last thing they were inclined to be was curious.   
  
He pushed up out of the Charger and walked cautiously up toward the clearing. He knew he should make his presence known somehow, but he felt the slight tightening of his belly and savored it. A string of shots pierced the air. Brian had probably put his targets in front of the deepest forest, facing west…Dom was walking south, he’d be fine. **  
  
*****  
  
They’d had to run under the piers north of Veracruz when a Gulf hurricane had sent the wrath of God down across the coast. The sky had turned black in less than fifteen minutes. The rain had come in horizontally and they had been driven back, back, back into their refuge. Brian’s shoes had gone so slick that he’d stumbled over Dom’s foot and hip and would have gone flying if Dom hadn’t dug fingers into his sopping t-shirt and hauled him bodily upright.   
  
Water had been dripping down everywhere, turning everything slipperier than it should have been.   
  
Dom had gasped, “Those shoes are worthless.” Brian had just looked at him, blinking the water away and then looked down at Dom’s hand, snagged in the waistband of his soggy jeans. Brian had clamped a fist in the collar of Dom’s t-shirt and they had come like that, with Brian’s knuckles rubbing his chin.   
  
*****  
  
 **He stood on the edge of the clearing, half shielded by Brian’s car. Brian faced away from  
him with his hands clasped gently around his gun. Dom squinted past him to see what Brian had elected to destroy. Looked like Brian had lifted some of the political posters that always seemed to be strewn around town. It was unexpected shocking and almost gory, seeing the bland smiling faces get ripped apart by gunfire.   
  
Brian never jerked at the recoil. He never winced or flinched; he was an excellent shot. He discharged half the magazine one-handed with his body a long, taut L-shape. It was closer and more humid here deep in the woods, bullets seemed to crackle through the thick air. Brian squinted and thumbed his safety on. He shoved the gun in his waistband, spread his palm between his shoulder blades and yanked his t-shirt off. Then he un-tucked his weapon, un-thumbed the safety and resumed his stance.   
  
Dom felt his teeth click together. He suddenly had a deeper appreciation for the phrase ‘to whet the appetite’ because he abruptly felt as sharp and keen as a blade. Brian was supporting his gun hand now, clasping his own forearm tightly and for a moment, he looked almost as dangerous as he really was.   
  
The report was loud and it echoed slightly. Dom watched the gleam of sweat, trickling in a rivulet along Brian’s spine. The hard line of his shoulders bunching as he took another shot.   
  
This was just target practice, it wasn’t  _foreplay_. Dom quelled the urge to sidle up behind Brian and snake his arms around Brian’s slim, taut waist. Reach deep down into those baggy pants and cup his balls while Brian got his gun off. Mary, Mother of God, he was some kind of sicko.   
  
“You want a turn?” Dom raised his eyes to Brian’s wry grin. Brian had lowered the gun and Dom watched him flick the safety back on with an inexplicable regret.  
  
“Those nine-mil bullets are more precious than gold.” Dom folded his arms and tried to look dismissive.   
  
Brian didn’t even roll his eyes, just turned his gaze back on his targets. “Did you come out here to start something? Cause I’m not really in the mood.”   
  
“Yeah.” Dom tried to make his voice neutral. “Letting Vince get under your skin, then taking off? It’s just not like you.”   
  
“Yeah, well.” Brian firmed up his stance and sighted again. “I’m on vacation.”  
  
Dom snorted a laugh and a lightning grin streaked across Brian’s face.   
  
“We’re gonna have to split up again.” Brian said, unnecessarily. Dom nodded, wondering what Brian meant by saying what they’d been discussing for days. After southern Mexico, after Belize, they’d gotten a little careless. Being together was just easier and much happier.   
  
Brian set his mouth and squeezed off another shot. A hole opened in the air-brushed forehead of some mayoral candidate. Dom suddenly got it.   
  
Brian was worried about him.   
  
For a second, the idea was just so ludicrous that Dom’s lip twisted in an involuntary grin. Because whatever the passport said, he was still Dominic Toretto. He did the worrying. But Brian was looking at him suspiciously now, like if Dom laughed, Brian might shoot him.  
  
Dom flashed back to the late night when he’d had to leave his RX-7 in a parking lot on Union Avenue. The hopeless, heart-pounding sensation of fleeing from the police on foot, the crazy, unexpected joy of a lime-green Mitsubishi Eclipse screeching to a halt and Brian urging ‘Get in!’  
  
He shook his head and the memory faded. That was only the first time.   
  
“Vince is headed back. Gonna double check and email the rest of the checkpoints. So you can relax.”   
  
“Good.” Brian nodded absently, so Dom continued. “You never used to let him rile you.”  
  
“It…just, he rubbed me the wrong way.” Brian didn’t look his way. But Dom shifted his weight and caught Brian’s eyes trying to put it all inside:  _come back with me, and I’ll rub you any way you want._  
  
Brian’s lip twitched and his nostrils flared. He tucked his gun back into its case. He wiped his forehead with his shirt and grinned.   
  
“Let’s go back.” Brian jerked his shirt on and turned back to his car. “I’m hungry.”   
  
“Race you.” Dom called unnecessarily.   
  
*****  
  
When they did it, it was always kind of nasty. Because they both knew they shouldn’t be doing it at all. So, better hung for a sheep than a lamb. In for a penny, in for a pound. They were bad separately, together they were downright toxic.   
  
Their modest villa was flimsily built and when Dom slammed Brian into a wall, the whole house shook. He snarled with pain as Brian’s sharp teeth caught under his ear. He was cupping Brian’s ass hard enough to lift him off the ground, which Brian didn’t seem to mind at all. Brian had just enough leverage to snap a button off Dom’s pants and Dom was momentarily so outraged, that he jerked Brian completely off his feet and practically tossed him onto the bed.   
  
Brian grinned as he dug his hands in, spider-crawling up to mid-mattress. Dom took a second to shuck his boots and pants as Brian shimmied out of his t-shirt. Dom grabbed Brian’s ankle and yanked one shoe off, then the other. It was a fight to get his jeans off, but Dom won.  
  
Brian sat up as Dom dug his knee hard into the bed and cupped Dom’s cock in his right hand. Dom pulled back from the rawness of the sensation, the feeling of being weighed and measured. Brian’s calluses caught on his skin, but Brian just laughed, ducked his head and used Dom’s cock to tease at his lower lip.   
  
Dom could only stand about three minutes of Brian’s mouth, the sidelong glances from under his eyelashes, before he pushed Brian onto his belly and bit the curve where his neck met his shoulder. He took a long, slow taste of the sweat in the dip of Brian’s spine. The feel of Brian's thigh under his palm made Dom want it rough.  
  
He was always astonished how easy it was, how Brian’s asshole just accepted his fingers, eating up two knuckles like a greedy little mouth. He twisted his hand delicately, stroking Brian’s balls with the pad of his thumb. He took a quick taste and Brian moaned and twisted, pulling the sheets loose.  
  
The smooth skin of Brian’s ass was much cooler to the touch than the hot slash of his cleft. Dom pressed his face hard against it, soaking a little of the cool into his hot cheek. When Brian was completely incoherent and unable to stop himself humping the mattress, Dom flipped him over. Brian wrapped his legs around Dom’s waist with the ease and unself-consciousness of a woman. He arched his head back at Dom’s first thrust. Dom leaned in to bite down gently on Brian’s chin.  
  
Dom stroked his thumbs gently over the peaks of Brian’s hipbones and gave himself plenty of time on both the up and down stroke. Brian threw his hips up and bit his lip, wordlessly saying that he wanted Dom to grab and jerk. He stuck one heel deep into Dom’s shoulder and fucked himself hard onto Dom's cock. For a dozen strokes, their strength was in perfect counterbalance. When Brian came, it looked like pain etched all over his face. Dom winced as Brian’s come spattered to the edge of his nipple. Dom spread his thighs and thrust deep enough to make Brian yelp. His own breath sounded like a sob.  
  
For a long moment, he could forget. Forget that he would be forever a fugitive, forget that he was fucking his sister’s boyfriend, forget that he’d ruined practically every life he’d touched. Breathe deeply into Brian’s neck, nuzzle his hair and forget. It was a long way down, and he was prepared to go all the way.  
**  
  
Because even in Eden, the apple got eaten. 


End file.
